


Our Lady Avon

by executrix



Category: Blakes7
Genre: Fusion, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-01
Updated: 2011-05-01
Packaged: 2017-10-18 20:20:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/192900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/executrix/pseuds/executrix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lord Avon is not particularly happy when his priestess Meegat suddenly turns up on the Liberator after "Deliverance."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Our Lady Avon

“What’s she doing here?” Blake asked, not unreasonably.

“She’s a novelty,” Vila said. “Avon never had a worshiper before, and he didn’t want to give it a rest.”

Deep down, Avon admitted that he hadn’t given much thought to the matter. The poor girl was all alone, now that he had played his own (ahem) modest part in saving her race. It seemed only reasonable to give her the shelter of the Liberator for a few days, until she could find a more promising place to settle down than Cephlon. He wasn’t sure where the Positions Vacant ads for Redundant Priestess were filed, but perhaps she could find a job as a mannequin in a fashion house somewhere. She was certainly thin enough.

He also admitted to himself that he was rather short with Blake on the subject, who after all had an interest in who was using the ship and why. But he had a wretched headache, and he didn’t want an argument. Or much of anything, except a gallon or so of cold water and a long sleep.

However, sleep was elusive, as Meegat trailed after him, collecting ritual objects that he had touched and offering increasingly embarrassing intimate services, and the rest of the crew followed them and split themselves laughing.

He did get a minute to himself, when Blake asked Cally to show Meegat the Wardrobe Room so she could pick out a few new dresses. And one of the 117 vacant cabins so she could sleep in it. But he got only a minute, because Gan cornered him.

“Now, see here, Avon!” Gan said. “You’re certainly not an ethical person, but even you should draw the line at exploiting that poor girl’s delusions. There’s a very special Hell awaiting those who take advantage of the innocent.”

“How very touching,” Avon said. “I have an idea. Why don’t you offer her honorable matrimony, and perhaps we can find a safe farming world to set you both down on.”

“Yes, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Gan fumed.

Kill two birds with one stone, Avon thought.

Meegat floated up, a few filmy frocks draped over her arm. “I would not be wed to the large one!” she said. “I would prefer to take up the work that The Lord Avon’s lieutenant Blake mentioned.”

“Hmpph,” said Gan, and headed back toward the Flight Deck. Usually on missions he got something…an anthropologically interesting artifact or so, but this time he hadn’t got so much as a dumb stick that sounded like rain. And Avon got a priestess.

It was almost time for his shift, so Avon strolled toward the Flight Deck, where Vila and Cally were waiting to go off-shift.

“Is there nothing I can do to please the Lord Avon?” Meegat wheedled.

“You know, I could just fancy a couple of layers of genoise filled with passion-fruit mousse topped with a three-dimensional scale model of the Liberator in pastillage ,” Avon said, figuring that would get her out of his hair for a few hours. From now on, the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come could just get stuffed.

“The Book of Ma’Ge’Tet says that excessive consumption of saccharinity is necessarily deleterious,” Cally said darkly.

“Eh?” said Vila.

“’Too many sweet things make you sick,’” Avon said. “You can all have a slice of the eventual cake, you know.”

“That wasn’t what I meant, and you know it,” Cally said.

“Our shift’s up, isn’t it?” Vila asked. “How about a relaxant, Cally? My head’s splitting.”

“No one believed the boy who cried wolf, Vila,” Cally said. “But come with me to the medical bay. I’ll check you out.”

Meegat eventually picked out a cabin at the farthest end of B Deck, and took the signaling device out of her pathetically tiny bundle of possessions.

“Meegat here,” she said. “All going according to plan. That was a brilliant stroke, Supreme Commander--setting up that room full of Army Surplus rubbish! And those pathetic black and white film clips! Of course they fell for it. And now I’m on board, and I’ll signal you again once I have command of the ship. Yes, thank you for that vial of Good Night Kiss--it should be just the thing.” Then she sat down on the bunk and re-arranged her features for Maximum Smarm.

A long shift later, Avon finally got to sleep. He heard the snick of his cabin door closing. He knew that he’d locked it, and was nettled at the thought of having to prop a chair under the door handle. Then he smelled a familiar symphony of aldehydes--Chanel No. 342--Anna’s perfume--as Meegat melted into his arms. The throbbing in his head merely served to reinforce the throbbing elsewhere and it had been a long damn time and he was tired and lonely and, well, she was there and he didn’t have the energy to throw her out. He slipped his fingers through her hair, caressed the sculpture of her skull, and kissed her deeply.

All right then he thought. I’ll GO to that Special Hell. But it was the last thing he had time to think before unconsciousness drew him down.

Blake slipped on his shower shoes and took his spongebag, en route to a relaxing bath.   
Meegat was already in the sink area of the B Deck bathroom, scrubbing her face. The mirror reflected a maniacal smirk, quite unlike her normal demure expression.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“Lord Avon’s widow!” she said. Blake dropped his spongebag and ran for Avon’s cabin, his dressing gown flapping. The door to the cabin was open, and Blake ran inside. To his unspeakable relief (although he did whisper, “Oh, honey”) he heard (and from several feet away) that Avon was still breathing. He rushed to the bed, and commenced CPR. That was his story, and he would have been sticking to it, if he hadn’t crashed out flat on top of Avon.

Meegat went up to the Main Deck, passing Gan and Vila comparing symptoms in the corridor. She looked them up and down, decided You’re not worth seducing, and simply kicked Vila in the head.

Gan did his best to rush to his comrade’s aid, but the limiter, repaired as it was, was still present, and he dropped in a writhing heap at Meegat’s feet. A little later, he managed to crawl to Jenna’s cabin. Thanks to the oft-forgotten telepathic link with Zen, however, Jenna was already aware that much was amiss, and paused only to call Cally on the commlink to leave the Medical Bay and join her on the Flight Deck.

A frustrated Meegat was having no success at all in trying to lock up the controls; she had already given up on trying to pilot the ship herself.

Cally tackled her from one side, and Jenna hauled on her from the other, and the three women struggled. The deadly dance continued, until, just as Jenna planned, the confrontation peaked in the Teleport Bay. Meegat lunged at Jenna, her arms extended to choke the life out of the blonde pilot.

Jenna kicked her in the hip, and Meegat fell. Jenna had never understood why that did anything, but she was ill-disposed to quarrel with success. Then she lifted the teleport bracelet (an old one of Avon’s, that Meegat wore around her neck on a ribbon) and jammed it on Meegat’s wrist. Then, not even pausing to check the coordinates, Cally triggered the teleport controls and disapparated Meegat. For the godssake, Jenna thought. She should know better than to try to play a player. And someday Servalan’s going to get into trouble, underestimating women. I hope that’ll be soon.

She raced to Blake’s cabin, found it empty, stormed over to Avon’s cabin, and viewed the tragic loading of the bed. The perfect ending to the perfect day she thought, and went back to her own cabin, stopping only to fix herself a light vodka and tonic.

Two hours later, Blake half-awoke, wondering what he was doing partially dressed and jammed against a somnolent Avon. He pushed at Avon’s shoulder until Avon stirred and groaned a little.

“Avon, what am I doing here?”

“Damned if I know,” Avon said, trying not to open his eyes because the 15% cabin light stabbed at them. On impulse, he nuzzled up to Blake and kissed him.

The last of the drug knocked Blake unconscious again.

Avon went back to sleep, because when he was asleep the bed didn’t spin around quite so fast.

“Well, here I am,” Meegat said to herself, brushing off the spikes from the cactus she had half-landed on. After she’d limped for a while, following the river, she came to a rock on which “Triumph Settlement” was daubed in whitewash. A few minutes later, she saw a couple of straw-chewing yokels.

“A blessed day to you, Maiden,” one of them said. “I am Zephaniel Gommen. What’s your name?”

“Mee…” she said, and paused. “Me naime’s Saffron.”

**Author's Note:**

> Fusion of the Firefly episode "Our Mrs. Reynolds."


End file.
